


We're Burning Down The Highway Skyline

by noos



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Footy Ficathon, M/M, Mario's my little marshmallow and i love him more than i love life, That is all, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noos/pseuds/noos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He takes a deep breath, his lungs burning and his chest aching as he mechanically starts pulling off his clothes. He tries - and fails - to keep his mind from drifting back to his last game in Dortmund. To the boos and jeers from the crowd, the same crowd that chanted his name so loud not so long ago, so loud he was sure everyone in the world could hear it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Burning Down The Highway Skyline

**Author's Note:**

> Promptfill:  
> “He’s the type of Player who needs pats. In Dortmund they have embraced, stroked and kissed him. This kind of heat doesn’t exist by Guardiola”  
> — Lothar Matthäus about Mario Götze 
> 
> I'm really on a roll with these two right now and I found this prompt at the footy ficathon and it was too good not to at least try. I really hope it's not a complete disappointment. 
> 
> Title from the song by The Killers.

"Earth to Mario!"

Mario's yanked out of his thoughts so suddenly that he almost falls off the bench.

"Huh, what?" He asks, his voice dazed and his eyes lost as he takes in the locker room around him.

Everyone's gone but he can hear water running and laughter echoing somewhere and he guesses they're all already in the showers. Except for Thomas, who's standing right in front of him in just his boxers, towel in hand. Thomas furrows his brow at him, his usually relaxed face marred with a concerned look, and it's not the first time Mario hates that Thomas can read him so well.

"Are you going to join us in there or are you just going to sit here and stare at nothing for another hour?"

He wants to be able to say something to that. He wants to be a smartass and make Thomas laugh and pretend like everything's okay, like he's not feeling like he can't breathe. But it takes too much effort to pretend, more than he can manage right now, so he just looks at his fingers as he plays with the muscle tape around his wrist and sighs. Even breathing takes too much effort right now.

"Hey, you did okay out there," Thomas soothes as he sits down next to him. "You gave it all you could. We all did."

"It's not enough," Mario argues. "We still lost."

"Mario, you can't keep blaming yourself. You wouldn't be playing if they didn't think you're good enough."

"I'm only playing because half our team is out injured, Mülli." He sighs as he looks at Thomas. He's never felt so drained of energy, so tired of it all. "You know that the minute they're better, Guardiola's going to bench me again."

"You don't kno-"

"I do know," he interrupts softly. "It's okay, he's got every right to. I've been shit lately. I actually can't remember a time when I haven't played like I have two left feet anymore. So I don't blame Pep for agreeing."

"Look, we're all tired right now," Thomas sighs. "What you're saying makes absolutely no sense because you're one of our best players. You wouldn't be on this team if you weren't, but I know you Mario. I know you're too stubborn and too damn hard on yourself so I can't convince you of shit right now. Let's just go shower and go back to our crappy hotel and then I'll worry about you."

"I'll be right there," Mario says after a minute, nodding with his head towards the showers. Thomas just stares at him a little longer. "Seriously, Mülli, just give me a second to grab my things. I'll be right behind you."

"Alright," Thomas sighs again, getting up and starting to move towards the showers.

Mario tries to give him his most reassuring smile when he turns to look at him one last time before he disappears behind the row of lockers.

He takes a deep breath, his lungs burning and his chest aching as he mechanically starts pulling off his clothes. He tries - and fails - to keep his mind from drifting back to his last game in Dortmund. To the boos and jeers from the crowd, the same crowd that chanted his name so loud not so long ago, so loud he was sure everyone in the world could hear it. He flinches when he remembers them throwing things at him, shudders when he remembers how loud their boos were, cringes when he thinks of the unaffected smile he tried to plaster on his face. He remembers running by Kloppo in his rush to escape it all, and he knew his old coach saw right through him. "You're stronger than all of this," he'd yelled at him as their paths crossed. "They're only this loud because they all know you are." Mario had laughed back then, had brushed it off and continued his way to keep from breaking down, Kloppo's words affecting him more than he knew to do with. How he still cared and worried despite everything. Guardiola didn't even look at him when Mario ran by him, and while he wasn't expecting anything else from the demanding man, the jog from Kloppo to Pep felt like he'd been lifted off the face of the earth with such grace only to be yanked back so suddenly that his fall took a matter of seconds. He remembers stumbling a little as he ran to catch up to Thiago, the ache in his chest nothing to do with his physical exertion.

He also remembers going up to Marco after the game - where he once again did absolutely nothing useful - but his boyfriend barely looked at him, busying himself with his laces. So Mario just patted him on the back. Marco straightened up just as he was walking away, and their eyes met for a brief second. "You did good" Marco had whispered, and Mario wished he could've believed him. He'd only smiled weakly at him before Robert tried - and failed, when will this boy learn - to rope Marco into a hug. Mario knew better by now, knew to give him the space he needed. Marco hated losing, and he hated losing to Bayern more than anything.

Mario only realizes he's still in the locker room in just his boxers when he feels himself shiver, and he's quick to pick up his towel before he follows Thomas into the showers.

\-----

The first thing he sees when he walks into his apartment the next day is Marco, his hair mussed up and his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and Mario's too tired to ask how he's here, too relieved to see him and too keyed up to do anything but fold himself in his boyfriend's arms and allow himself to finally break down. He doesn't cry, doesn't even have the energy to do that, just holds on to Marco, clings to him when his boyfriend manages to drag them over to his bed, buries his face in the crook of his neck and just breathes - because he can do that so much easier when Marco's around. He closes his eyes when Marco starts combing his fingers through his hair, barely has enough strength to toe off his shoes and wedge his leg between Marco's before he gives in to slumber.

\-----

It takes him a few minutes to register his surroundings when he wakes up hours later, but when he does, everything is Marco. The arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the soft hair tickling his forehead, the warm skin under his fingers. The smell of Marco, of fresh grass and hair gel and boy, the taste of him when Mario pulls closer to him, buries his face in the crook of his neck and sucks blindly on the skin there. Marco moans against him, his arms tightening around his waist, and Mario pulls back for a second before moving to his collarbone, licking and sucking the salty skin.

"A little eager, are we?" Marco croaks against him and Mario feels his chuckle more than hears it.

"I missed you," he mumbles against his skin, his voice muffled as he leaves a trail of wet open-mouthed kisses along his jaw line until he's at his earlobe, one of his hands reaching for Marco's lower back and pushing their hips closer together.

"Mario..." Marco murmurs, his voice breaking and Mario can feel him hard against his thigh, just as willing under his touch, but before Mario can do anything else, Marco's pushing him away gently, putting some distance between them until they can look at each other. Mario whimpers an objection, his hand tangling in Marco's hair and pulling him closer. "Sunny, please stop."

"What?"

He feels the hot prickle of humiliation run through him, the rejection taking him by surprise, and he snatches his hands away from the boy lying on his side in front of him.

"No, no! Not like that," Marco's quick to say, reaching for his hands and pulling him closer again before linking their fingers together and bringing them to his lips. He kisses his knuckles and Mario feels himself relax again, Marco's breath tickling his fists, his chest warm and solid against him. "I just, I want to talk for a bit before we get distracted," he continues, trailing one of his fingers along Mario's hip until he's at his knee and back again. Mario closes his eyes at the touch he's missed so much.

"Why do we need to talk," he whispers before closing the distance between them.

Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, barely moving against one another, mouths open and breath hot as they just relish their proximity after so long.

"Because you're not okay."

It takes a moment for Mario to register Marco's words, his brain fogged up and completely taken by the feel of the boy against him, but when he does, he pulls away peering suspiciously at him.

"You're in Munich," he states and Marco smiles against him. "You're supposed to be in Dortmund right now. Why are you in Munich, Marco?"

"Would you like me to go?"

"Why are you not in Dortmund, Marco?" He asks again, trying not to get sidetracked by Marco's dazzling smile. And yes, he just called Marco's smile dazzling, because he's that gone for him, dammit. "Thomas called you, didn't he?"

Of course Thomas called him. Damn that boy and his long limbs and his infuriating ability to know exactly what Mario needs.

"He worries about you."

"I wish he wouldn't," Mario mutters and he can't keep the annoyed tone out of his voice as he turns his eyes away from Marco.

"But he does."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Even I can tell you're not okay through my television," Marco says, tugging on Mario's hand until he's looking at him again.

" _You_ can tell whether I'm okay or not even if you were on the moon," Mario argues and Marco laughs.

"Point," he concedes, kissing Mario before pulling away again. "But even Pierre can tell and he's only met you twice."

"Pierre's unusually perceptive," he counters pathetically.

"No he's not." Marco raises his eyebrows at him. "His girlfriend had to literally _tell_ him she was pregnant because he didn't get the hints she left him."

"Maybe they weren't very clear hints."

"A pregnancy test, a onesie, and I believe she also bought a plush toy of that stupid bird that carries babies around."

Mario really wants to argue here, but _really, Pierre?_

"Okay, wow, he's really not completely right up there, is he?"

"He's not," Marco agrees laughing and Mario can't help but smile at the sight. He's missed Marco more than he can put into words. "Stop insulting my friend, though!" He adds, trying to keep from smiling. "And stop changing the subject."

Mario sighs deeply, lowering his gaze to their entwined hands.

"What do you want me to say, Marco? Yeah, I'm not okay."

"Tell me what's wrong, Sunny. Let me help you," Marco pleads and Mario feels something twist inside his chest.

"You can't help me," he mumbles suddenly feeling tired again. "I miss you," he says after a moment, looking up at Marco again.

"And I miss you too-"

"No," Mario smiles sadly, shaking his head. "I miss you. I miss playing with you. I miss winning with you. I miss _losing_ with you, because it doesn't feel as bad. It doesn't feel like it's the end of the world. Having a bad game doesn't feel as grave. I miss feeling like I'm on top of the world, like nothing can bring me down because the Yellow Wall is roaring my name. I miss making Kloppo proud."

"Mario," Marco whispers, and the look he gives him is more than Mario can handle right now so he looks at their hands again.

"I know I'm not playing well."

"That's not tr-"

"Yes it is, Marco, don't lie to me. Part of the reason I love you is because you never lie to me, so don't start now," he begs, looking at Marco again. His boyfriends nods lightly before allowing him to continue. "I know I'm not playing well. It's all good when we're training, but then we're on the pitch and I get the ball and I hear the crowd and my feet feel like they're made of lead. Like I can't move them the way I want to, like I don't have control over my body or the ball. Playing football used to be what I loved the most. It used to be fun and easy, but now..."

"It still is," Marco says. "You're still one of the best players in the world."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," Marco interrupts, his voice firm leaving no room for doubt. "You wouldn't be where you are if you weren't. You wouldn't be playing for - and I'll deny ever saying this if you ever bring it up - one of the best teams in the world."

Mario chuckles despite himself, already feeling considerably lighter, and Marco smiles at his achievement.

"Sunny, nothing's changed. So what if some people boo you, they're idiots. You're still the same player, only a little better now. Football is still fun and easy, and so what if we don't get to play together as often as before, at least we're still playing together for our country. And we're going to win together, the Euro Cup and the World Cup and the Euro Cup again and every trophy they'll allow us in between. And until then, you've got Thomas, and I don't know how you can even think of football as not fun when you've got that idiot around 24/7." Mario snorts when he thinks of Thomas dancing on those unnaturally clumsy legs of his. "You're always going to win some and lose some, but you can't lose yourself in there. You can't let those idiots out there force you to forget how good you are. Not even Guardiola. The ones who matter - Thomas, Manu, Fips, Mats - they're proud of you. Felix and Fabian too. Kloppo's still proud of you." Marco adds in a low voice. his eyes comforting as he looks at Mario. "And I don't know, it might not mean as much, but I'm proud of you too."

Mario's quiet for a moment, taking in everything Marco just said. Their eyes meet again, and Mario feels his breath catch in his throat for an entirely different reason now.

"Yeah, you're right," he mumbles. "Making you proud doesn't really mean as much," he shrugs, and Marco barks a laugh.

"Jerk," his boyfriend mutters as he pulls him close until their lips meet again. "Now, I believe you were about to start something before our little heart to heart," Marco murmurs into his skin as his lips pepper kisses along Mario's neck, his fingers inching dangerously close to Mario's waistline.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mario whispers, his voice breaking as he swallows thickly. "I'm just here for the conversation."

When Marco laughs into his skin again, Mario thinks he might be okay after all.


End file.
